


Pluit

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Charles You Slut, Cunnilingus, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oxford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8988943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: (What better way for Charles to spend a rainy afternoon at Oxford than by providing a harried coed with some companionship?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> _**Pluit** , verb. Latin. It rains; it is raining._

“I beg your pardon—is this seat taken?”

She looks up from Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ , which she’s been solely focused on for the past half hour. Her mind is whirling with Latin, and it takes her a second to process English.

“No, it’s not,” she whispers back to the young man, who’s wearing a blue shirt and blue sweater under his coat, and who has very, very blue eyes. He nods, and sits down across from her. She thought she’d found a relatively private corner of the reading room, but it’s begun raining outside and it’s rather crowded in here as a result. 

As he takes out an assortment of books from his satchel, and sets aside his umbrella, she realizes she’s forgotten hers, in her rush to get to the library, and closes her eyes with a little sigh of exasperation before returning to the page. 

Another half hour disappears as she reads, lost in the text. She’s got to finish this today—and start on another, and write a paper, and… and….

She’s really in need of a break, she realizes as she sits back, stretching briefly. It’s still pouring out, and she really ought to have some tea before her next class. Forlornly, she looks at her raincoat. The cafe’s enough of a walk from here that she’s likely going to be soaked before she gets there.

The man across from her is packing up his things, and he glances up at her as she closes her book and stands to put it in her satchel. He stands as well; he’s not very tall, but he’s a good-looking chap, and nicely built as well. He shrugs on his coat as she belts hers, and whispers to her, “Sorry, have you not got an umbrella?”

She shakes her head, surprised that he noticed.

“If we’re going the same way, I’ll walk you, if you’d like,” he says.

“All right,” she replies after a moment. “Yeah, thanks.”

Under his umbrella, he walks her to the cafe, and buys her tea. He’s utterly charming, and quite fun to talk to; he’s older than he looks, with quite a lot of education under his belt and plenty to discuss. He cites the book she’s been studying and actually gets her to converse in Latin. It’s barely even a question when he asks if she’s got a few moments for him to stop by his flat so he can retrieve a text he’s sure she’d like.

When they get to his building, he gestures for her to come in. “No sense in you standing out here in this.” 

He won’t let her stand about in the lobby, either. She protests—she’ll surely get unwanted scrutiny going to a man’s flat like this—but he shakes his head. “It’s fine, we’ll only be a moment.”

And it is fine—she passes people in the hall, but none take any notice of her. 

His flat is well appointed and cozy, he’s still charming, and she’s expecting it when he kisses her before their coats are off. They’re on his sofa in short order, coats quickly shed, and he’s—handsy but somehow gentlemanly about it, never hesitant but never groping all the same. Not unexpected, given what she can surmise about him. 

It’s a bit better than she’s come to expect from boys, really. Perhaps it’s because he’s older. Still, she’s never gotten much from encounters like this—the boys invariably enjoy it far more than she does. But he’s nice enough, and he did let her use his umbrella, and he bought her tea. Let him have his fun for now, she thinks, and then she can get the book and go to her next class.

It is a bit of a surprise when he slides to the floor, on his knees between her legs, and runs his hands up her thighs, under her skirt, to the tops of her stockings. “What are you—” she starts to ask. 

He rucks up her skirt, getting it out of the way, and slides his hands under her bottom to take hold of her knickers and pull them down, over her shoes and off. She cooperates, although she’s a tad self-conscious of the fact that she’s wet. 

Otherwise fully dressed, she feels exposed anyway as he situates himself once more, his hands hot under her bare bottom and his exhalations warm on her bare thighs. Nonetheless, she has goosebumps. 

“Legs a bit wider for me, darling,” he tells her.

“You don’t have to do this,” she tells him, spreading her thighs, unable to look away from him, curling her fingers around the edge of his sofa cushions.

“Do what?” he asks with a wink, and presses a light kiss to her inner thigh.

She draws in a breath, holding it until she sees and feels his tongue, slick warmth gliding over her, achingly slow. And that’s good; she closes her eyes with a little shudder, as if to better feel every stroke of it. 

She needs more than this, though, and as if on cue his tongue moves to the little fleshy nub of her clitoris, making her gasp and slump back limply into the sofa as he kneads it, gently but firmly, and when he sucks at it she makes an odd sound, hot all over with her sudden loss of control. She’s— 

He sucks at her again, and again, rhythmic, and she’s rolling her hips, panting. His hands move to her inner thighs, holding her open, not that she needs it. 

She hasn’t ever felt— 

One of her hands goes to his hair, keeping him right where he is, her other hand tightening mindlessly on the sofa cushion. Just as the pulsing starts to subside, he slides his tongue inside her, and she stifles a yelp. As he works it in and out of her, she tugs on his hair. The flood of feeling is almost too much, and when he hums, she can’t keep herself from moaning.

And once all that’s faded, she stares at his ceiling, mouth slightly open as she catches her breath, her entire body still thrumming. It takes her a moment to realize he’s handing her her knickers. She’s a little surprised—she’d have expected him to want her to do something for him now. But he’s not taking off his clothes or making any other move, so she takes them from him, and puts them on.

He helps her stand and get herself together again, smoothing out her skirt; he’s smiling. “Mustn’t be late for your next class,” he says. He kisses her; she tastes herself. He lets her borrow his umbrella.

Although she’s still a bit flushed and distracted—she repeatedly imagines she can still feel his hair between her fingers, his lips against her inner thigh next to the band of her stocking—as she leaves his building (again seemingly unnoticed), she’s glad she didn’t bother with her girdle or pantyhose this morning after all. 

Once she’s at her next class she realizes she’d completely forgotten to borrow that book, and that she doesn’t even know his name.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always thinking about [this James McAvoy interview from 2011](http://www.ign.com/articles/2011/03/30/x-men-first-class-james-mcavoy-interview) where he talks about how he figures Charles behaves with girls. A bit egotistical, a bit caddish, not above using his power to surreptitiously gain advantage over those he's interested in, but meaning well and wanting to validate himself by being important to others. He's also said he thinks of young Charles as a bit kinky. I could easily see Charles wanting to show a stressed-out, pretty coed a nigh-anonymous good time in a selfless-selfish fashion such as this.


End file.
